


room for one

by ORiley42



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Stuck in a confined space, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 10:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42
Summary: Close quarters, under pressure.





	room for one

“Get in,” Ethan said, holding open the lid of the coffin.

“What? No!” Benji tried to back away, but Ethan had him by the arm before he could.

“We won’t make it off the property in time, we have to hide and wait for the guards to pass us by.”

“I’m not getting in one of those things until I am old and grey and have passed away peacefully in my sleep, thank you very much—”

“Benji, if you don’t get inside it now, willingly, you’ll be getting in one very soon anyway, unwillingly.”

Ethan climbed in while Benji considered that. Benji watched him lay down, flat on his back, then gesture for Benji to—well, it wasn’t entirely clear. The damn things didn’t exactly come in queen size.

“Climb on top of me, right now,” Ethan hissed, flapping his hand at Benji.

“Oh, this is _not_ the situation I wanted to hear you say those words in,” Benji muttered. The clomp of boots and clack of guns finally clinched it and he dove in after Ethan, pulling the coffin’s uppermost wooden panel closed after him.

After a few seconds of harsh breathing and humid darkness, a blue-white phone light blinded Benji. He flailed for a moment before realizing that there really, really wasn’t room to flail in his current surroundings. Ethan coughed uncomfortably, confirming this. He managed to scoot the phone between his shoulder and the wall of the coffin, so they could see each other’s faces. Benji wasn’t sure whether or not this was an improvement over the pitch blackness.

“So,” Ethan said conversationally, knees shifting slightly so there was room for Benji between his legs (and Benji was trying so hard not to think about _being between Ethan’s legs_ that it was all he could think about), “come here often?”

“Flip bastard,” Benji grumbled. All he could see and smell and feel was Ethan, and it was already starting to get sticky-warm in the tiny space. Like a sauna, complete with the smell of cedar, but minus the soft towels. Also, the scent of gun oil wasn’t generally native to spas, nor the stink of fearful sweat.

“And, uh, what was that you said just before? Something about this situation not being—”

“Shut up,” Benji cut him off, screwing his eyes shut, “you don’t get to judge me for things I say seconds before climbing into a box meant for dead people.”

“Not judging,” Ethan said, but it was lost in Benji’s following whispered rant.

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Benji seethed, “I cannot believe I agreed to this. It might’ve been better to just get shot, straightforwardly.”

“Benji—”

“No, don’t you ‘Benji’ me with your stupid beautiful crooner voice, I won’t be coddled, this is a _disaster_.”

“We’re fine!” Ethan insisted, “All we have to do is wait it out. They’ll be gone in a matter of minutes—”

“They’ll find us in a matter of minutes!” Benji said very loudly, and immediately tried to put a hand over his own mouth because, hello, _stealth_, but his hand was lost somewhere south of Ethan’s elbow and the endeavor quickly turned into a lost cause.

“Don’t worry,” Ethan said, spotting Benji’s concern, “they can’t hear us, it’s soundproof.”

“It’s _soundproof_!?” Benji shouted, causing Ethan to perform a minor gymnastic miracle and free a hand to clap over Benji’s mouth.

“It’s _mostly_ soundproof,” Ethan growled, “let’s not test the limit of that right this second.”

Benji mulishly wanted to lick Ethan’s hand, but decided he had slightly more manners than a six-year-old, so he just glared at Ethan in the dim, spooky glow of the phone light.

Ethan deigned to release him after a minute, and Benji immediately hissed, “Why the hell does a _coffin_ need to be soundproof? Is this some sort of zombie situation? Oh, please God, tell me this isn’t a zombie situation, I cannot have my brains eaten they’re all I have going for me—”

“There are no zombies, Benji, please take a breath and—” Ethan winced, “maybe stop wiggling around, this is, uh, really tight quarters.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Benji grumbled.

“And…” Ethan quirked his head, curiously, “actually, why would zombies want a soundproof coffin?”

“That’s not—the zombies don’t _want_ to be in the coffin, but if you needed to lock them up and didn’t want to hear their undead moaning and stuff, you’d want the coffin to be….okay, you know what, the logic of the soundproof zombie-coffin doesn’t hold up, but neither does your logic about anything, so there.” If Benji could have stamped his foot petulantly, he would have. As it was, he settled for a petulant grimace.

Ethan sighed, fond. “Listen, Benji. Kabakov’s crew has been using these rigged coffins to smuggle plastic explosives into the country. The soundproofing is a side-effect of the lining used to deflect customs’ scans for dangerous materials.”

Benji rolled his eyes with great emphasis, to make sure Ethan didn’t miss it. “Well, you could have just said that.”

“I didn’t really have time to explain it all in between the gunplay and you pulling your usual brand of techno-magic.”

As Ethan had intended, Benji was mollified. “I wouldn’t say magic—incredibly delicate and detailed crypto-hacking, maybe…”

“You’re incredible.”

“Oh, hush,” Benji hoped that the white light would bleach the blush from his cheeks, “It’s my job.”

Ethan shrugged, or rather, moved his shoulders half an inch up and down. “And this is my job.”

“Dragging innocent computer whizzes into wooden death-boxes?”

Ethan laughed. “Yes, that is exactly my job.”

“Nah,” Benji softened, “your job is keeping goofs like me safe. And you’re damn good at it. Annoyingly good, on occasion.”

“I do my best. And for the record, there’s no one I’d rather be stuck in a coffin with than you.” Ethan shot one of his toothpaste-commercial-perfect smiles up at Benji. The damn thing was near-fatal in such close quarters, and Benji struggled to deflect.

“Hmm,” he squinted away, “Alright, cards on the table, just above you in the list of potential-coffin-partners is Sean Connery. But right after that, definitely you.”

“I don’t beat out Sean Connery?” Ethan raised his eyebrows. “The ancient Bond guy, seriously?”

“Well, I mean, this is an in-his-prime, martini-in-hand hypothetical Sean we’re talking about, obviously. And it’s a close call, but I watched _Goldfinger_ approximately a thousand times as a teenager and developed a bit of a fixation. It can’t be helped, he was simply cemented as my type in my youthful consciousness.”

Ethan’s silence turned thoughtful. Then he said, “Is the accent a deal-breaker?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the dark hair, the charm, the spy gadgets and martial arts training,” Ethan listed off, “I’ve got that covered. But I’m decidedly American, so, wondering if a non-Scotsman could do it for you, or no.”

Benji scoffed, vaguely offended and slightly terrified at the direction this conversation was going. “The ego on you!”

“Is surprisingly fragile. But I feel like you’re giving off some…signals.” Ethan grinned, crooked and warm, and shifted his hips.

Now Benji was furious, turned on, or embarrassed, he wasn’t sure which. He finally split the difference by sputtering, “If you make a ‘is that a gun or are you just happy to see me’ joke right now, then you will be staying permanently in this coffin, utilizing it for its intended purpose, for eternity, courtesy of me.”

“I was not,” Ethan promised, unconvincingly.

“And if you’re just trying to distract me from our possible impending deaths, then just don’t. Please, don’t.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t do that,” Ethan said, and it was soft and tinged with hurt.

“Right.” Now Benji felt like an ass.

“It’s just…” Ethan looked lost for words, which was about as unusual occurrence as Ethan being lost for a seat-of-your-pants-improvised-world-saving-plan, which he seemed to stockpile in some nook of his unfathomable cranium. “You know I think best under pressure.”

“With minor reservations, yes,” Benji conceded.

“And this is, I think you’ll agree, considerable pressure.”

“Charitable phrasing, but granted.”

“And what I’m thinking is…what you said earlier.”

“Which thing, that you’re a bastard? The bit about the zombies?”

“How I wish that I’d told you to get on top of me under different circumstances,” Ethan admitted.

Benji goggled at him. He imagined the effect of the expression would be considerably heightened given their proximity, and hoped that would sufficiently convey the extent of his extreme bafflement and distress. “Really?” he hissed, wanting to shout but knowing better than that, “You’re really doing this now?”

“Would you rather I do it later?” Ethan asked, like he actually would pack his heart back up off his sleeve and bring it out again after their extraction, if that’s what Benji wanted.

“Uh…no.” Benji shook his head, shaking loose a puff of dust, “Continue.”

“That, uh, that was most of it,” Ethan admitted. “Unless, that is, if you’re comfortable, we could…”

Ethan’s eyes glided down to Benji’s mouth.

“Oh,” Benji breathed, “yes, that might be, er, most efficient.”

“I’m a big fan of efficiency,” Ethan agreed, before closing the last inch between their lips.

The angle was not ideal and they both tasted like the ham & cheese sandwiches they’d eaten while stuck up a big oak tree surveilling the property, but it was also perfect in every way. Ethan’s mouth slid against Benji’s like that’s what it had been made to do, warm and soft and chapped lips from too many days in the elements. Ethan’s nose bumped Benji’s cheek, and Benji wondered if Ethan minded the scratch of his beard, and Ethan took the initiative and slipped his tongue into Benji’s mouth, tracing his teeth and making him shiver from head to toe.

Benji held Ethan as well as he could, one hand crushed against Ethan’s hip and the other gripping his forearm for dear life—not exactly romantic. Ethan was making rather a better show of holding Benji. In fact, under different circumstances, Benji might’ve felt compelled to pretend offense about where one of Ethan’s hands had ended up. He might’ve made a comment about not being that kind of boy, and how Ethan really would have to buy him dinner first. But, he rationalized, when space is at a premium, a little light fondling could be forgiven, and perhaps even surreptitiously enjoyed.

Men shouted outside the coffin, the clank of metal on metal and feet pounding the ground as they spread through the room, searching. Ethan and Benji kissed each other through it all.

Benji made a mental note that if they were discovered and immediately shot to death afterwards, it would, all things considered, not be a bad way to go. He also thought that if someone had the nerve, the absolute _gall_ to open up this coffin and interrupt them, he’d tell that someone in no uncertain terms to mind their own business and then drag the cover shut again.

But the guards passed them by, and Benji kissed Ethan with all he had, because it felt like this might be his only chance.

Ethan was the one who finally broke away as a door slammed outside their nightmarish sanctuary, his eyes flicking with a hunter’s precision towards the direction of the sound.

Still wrapped in the heat of their embrace, Benji murmured, “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Ethan Hunt, you’re officially Numero Uno on my desired couples-coffin-contender list.”

Sliding seamlessly back into their intimate moment, Ethan smiled. “I’m honored. And glad I can shelve the plan to assassinate Sean Connery.”

“That man has to be in his eighties!”

“Still, I’m not taking any chances.”

“So, this isn’t a ‘what happens in the coffin, stays in the coffin,’ situation, then?” Benji prompted, hopefully.

“I hope not,” Ethan said, a touch worried.

“No, good! That’s good,” Benji said, leaning forward to peck Ethan on the lips, feeling strange and brave and wonderful, “I would like this to be an extra-coffin affair. I am very much looking forward to kissing you again, outside of this death trap.”

Ethan smiled, the expression heavy with relief, lightened by hope. Benji was feeling a little floaty inside, himself.

“Is that a date, Agent Dunn?”

“Yes, Agent Hunt,” Benji grinned, “it is. My only demand: that it be held somewhere with lots of open space.”

“Amen,” Ethan agreed.

“Oh, also, secondary demand,” Benji added, “that no one finds out that we made out in a coffin.”

“Well, I was planning on putting it in the official report,” Ethan managed to say with a straight face, “but I suppose I could leave it off.”

“How kind.”

“Anything for you,” Ethan smiled, and even though it was said with humor, Benji felt the truth of it somewhere behind his ribcage.

Benji sighed, as deeply as he could when they were pressed chest to chest. “Alright, I can’t believe I’m saying this but…I’m really glad you pulled me into this coffin.”

Ethan smiled again, and Benji savored every happy line around his mouth. “Hey, anytime you wanna get stuck in a strange and potentially deadly situation in a foreign country with minimal backup and high stakes, you just let me know. I’m your man.”

Benji kissed him again, heart beating fast like it had the first time he’d played hooky from school, except this was so much better than getting ice cream and skipping gym.

“And I’m yours. Better get used to me, Mr. Hunt, because you’re gonna be stuck with me for a long, long time.”

**Author's Note:**

> what a classic trope! i don't think i've ever written it, so i was glad to play around with it with this pairing.   
hope ya enjoyed it! <3


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